The Enemy of My Enemy
by SeenaC
Summary: New story but part of my continuing narrative.  Epilogue posted!  Please give me your final thoughts/reactions!  "M":  adult subjects & violence.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Not sure how long this will end up being. I'm guessing maybe about as long as "The Adventure of the Swinging Snitch" or shorter. This takes up the thread of my longer narrative from where I left it with the "First Christmas" story and the subsequent chapters.

This story will contain some violence, frank discussions of sexuality, some very mild slash (if you wear slash goggles), but nothing explicit. I'm rating this "M" mostly for the subjects addressed rather than any actual events or descriptions.

This story will also address issues of religious fundamentalism in both Islam and Christianity. It is not intended as a criticism of either religion, rather it is a criticism of all fundamentalism, regardless of its source.

Now that I'm getting the hang of this site and how it works a bit better, I promise to respond to all reviews that are not anonymous. Please, help me become a better writer! :-)

Disclaimer: I don't own. No profits, etc...

As with most of my other stories, it is written from John's POV...

The Enemy of My Enemy - Chapter 1

It was a morning not long after Sarah and I had broken up. I was coming downstairs on my way to get my morning tea before leaving for work. I had been awakened earlier than usual by what sounded like construction noise from downstairs. I of course assumed it must be Sherlock perpetrating further atrocities on our flat. Expensive atrocities, from the sound of it.

However, as I descended the stairs, it became apparent that the noise was coming from further away than our flat. I wondered if maybe Mrs. Hudson was having some sort of work done on her place. It sounded like several power tools were going at the same time, along with a lot of banging and crashing.

I was nearly to our flat when, much to my surprise, Mycroft emerged from our sitting room, apparently on his way out. He saw me and stopped, with a look in his eyes that indicated he was genuinely pleased to see me. But with Mycroft Holmes who can say for certain?

"John, so nice to see you again!" He shook my hand warmly.

"Thanks Mycroft, good to see you too. How are you?"

"Very well, thanks. Just stopping by to say hello to Sherlock."

By this time Sherlock was at the doorway of the sitting room, evidently following Mycroft. Sherlock had his usual look of disgust that he wore around his brother.

Mycroft continued, "Sherlock, what is Mrs. Hudson having done? I might pop downstairs and see the workmen. There's a few jobs I could have done around my place. It's so hard to find reliable craftsmen these days."

Sherlock sneered, "Please Mycroft, go back to your office and don't pester people who actually perform real work. Don't you have some sort of international incident to provoke?"

Mycroft made no verbal response but sent his brother a wry smile. After a brief pause he said, "Well, I'll be off. Goodbye Sherlock, goodbye John." He sauntered down the stairs with his folded umbrella over one shoulder.

I followed Sherlock into the sitting room. Sherlock went immediately into the kitchen where he had his microscope set up. He began fiddling with it immediately.

"What did Mycroft want?" I asked as I followed him into the kitchen. I still needed my morning tea.

"Oh nothing of importance. He said he was going to be away and we won't be seeing him for awhile."

"Is he going abroad?"

"Don't know. Didn't ask. Don't care."

"So what's going on downstairs? What is Mrs. Hudson having done to her place?"

"Actually, the work is being done in 221c. It seems Mrs. Hudson has finally found a tenant."

"Really? Wow! When did this happen?"

"A few days ago, apparently. Mrs. Hudson is over the moon about it."

"I guess so. Hasn't it been vacant for years?"

"Mmm-hmmm," Sherlock nodded, "moldy, musty, low ceilings as I'm sure you remember. It's no wonder she's happy someone has finally taken it."

I listened to the cacophony of sound coming from the basement. "Sounds like there's a lot of work being done down there."

Sherlock nodded again as he adjusted the microscope some more. "Yes, it's part of the agreement according to Mrs. Hudson. The tenant is paying for the remodeling in consideration of getting a lower rent and a twenty-year lease."

"Twenty years!" I exclaimed, "who signs a twenty-year lease?"

Sherlock looked up at me in surprise. "Lots of people, John."

"It sounds mad to me. Why would the tenant or Mrs. Hudson agree to such a thing?"

Sherlock straightened up and regarded me with a thoughtful expression. "It makes perfect sense to me, and it's a good deal for both parties. The place was vacant for years, it was costing Mrs. Hudson money and becoming less livable all the time. Now she has a guaranteed income from it for twenty years. In return, the tenant gets a comfortable home at a below market rate in a prime location in central London after the initial outlay of cash to make it comfortable." He paused and then said, "I'd sign a twenty-year lease with you and Mrs. Hudson today if you'd agree."

I goggled at him.

"Oh for heaven's sake John! We've lived together almost a year now, we have it sorted, don't we? I certainly have no plans to ever leave, and if you did I'm sure you could easily sub-let. Is there a better location for the money? I seriously doubt it. What's the problem?"

The tea kettle was singing so I busied myself preparing two mugs.

"I don't know Sherlock. It's just...twenty years! By the end of that time I'll be an old man."

Sherlock snorted. "And if you aren'tliving _here_ in twenty years' time how old will you be?"

"Ha ha," I retorted, "you know what I mean. It's like making a commitment for the rest of, well, the prime of my life."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Again, John, and please pay attention this time: Location, money, company - can you do better? And, if it turned out that you _could_ do better, you could always sub-let. Think about it."

"Sherlock, are you serious about this? Or are you just having me on?"

Sherlock went back to looking through the microscope. "It's just something to think about, that's all," he muttered.

I placed his mug of tea next to him on the table.

"So who is this tenant, then? What if we don't get on?" I asked.

"Go talk to Mrs. Hudson," he said irritably, "I'm busy."

"Right. Well, I'm off to work. See you tonight."

Sherlock didn't respond.

I finished getting ready and headed downstairs. On a whim I went on down to 221c just to see what was going on. I found Mrs. Hudson standing in the doorway, watching the work going on in her basement flat.

"Oh hello dear!" Mrs. Hudson beamed at me.

"Hi, I hear you've let the place?"

"Yes! Isn't it wonderful? A very nice young lady, just twenty-three and out of college."

"Really? Sherlock tells me she's signed a twenty-year lease?"

"Yes, I can't believe it. It would have been madness to turn her down. If she doesn't keep her agreement, the flat will still be fixed up and much more marketable than it was. I can hardly believe my good luck!"

"If she's just out of college, how can she afford this?"

"Oh, her parents are dead, poor thing, and they left her an inheritance. She said it made sense to her to invest some of the money into a good place to live. She probably feels the need for some security in her life. I was alone in the world at that age too...except I made the mistake of getting married. I thought it would bring me security, but how wrong I was!" Mrs. Hudson shook her head over the memories of her disastrous marriage. "This is a much more sensible decision."

"Er, I guess you're right Mrs. Hudson. Well, I'm off to work, see you in the evening."

"Goodbye, dear." Mrs. Hudson gave me a quick peck on the cheek.

As I made my way to work I couldn't help speculating about this mysterious young heiress. Just out of college and committing to living in a basement flat until she was in her forties? By the time her lease ended she would be older than I am right now. What if she wanted to get married and have children? That place would be cramped for even a married couple. Children would be impossible.

Maybe she was a party girl who wanted to be close to the action of London's night life and just wanted a comfortable flop. But such a creature didn't seem the type to sign a long-term lease. I couldn't seem to form a picture in my head that accounted for all the pieces of the puzzle.

I consoled myself with the realization that once she moved in I would have plenty of time to get to know her, as we were apparently going to be close neighbors for a long time.

That was another thing to muse over. What was Sherlock on about this morning? Was he really wanting the two of us to commit to a long-term lease like the new tenant? It seemed like such a big step, but I had to acknowledge that his arguments in favor of it made sense. I finally decided that the decision should wait until after the new neighbor moved in. After all, if she turned out to be a nightmare, I didn't want to have already agreed to live in close proximity to her for the next twenty years.

To be continued...


	2. Chapter 2

The Enemy of My Enemy - Chapter 2

The next week was filled with the sound of the renovations being done downstairs. Each morning I awoke to the music of power tools and hammers. I worked a lot of hours that week, so it didn't really bother me all that much. Sherlock, however, went around in a permanently grouchy mood. After the first day he also started spending the working hours away at St. Bart's. After seeing him carry his riding crop with him one morning I assumed that the fresh corpses were bearing the brunt of his ill humor.

At last, the remodeling was complete and Mrs. Hudson announced that our new neighbor would be moving in any day now. She gave us a tour of the refinished flat and I was pretty impressed. I would have never guessed it was the dank, dismal space I remembered from months ago. There were new fixtures in the tiny bathroom and kitchen, a new small stove and refrigerator, fresh paint, and new wood flooring. It actually had shaped up to be a nice little flat for a single person.

The next morning as I left for work I noticed a moving van parking itself along Baker street. Apparently, I would be meeting our new neighbor soon. I found myself to be very curious about this woman. I suppose I had the right to be, after all, she was going to be sharing the building with Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock and me. I wondered how it would affect us all, to have a new person in such close proximity.

When I got home that evening I saw no sign of the new tenant, although she was probably downstairs in her basement flat. I went upstairs to ours and found our door open as usual. Sherlock was sitting in his chair reading a book.

"Hi Sherlock, have you met the new neighbor?"

"No, I think she's got some visitors."

"Did you see her at all?"

"No, I just heard voices."

"Should we go downstairs and introduce ourselves?"

Sherlock lowered his book. "Why would we do that?"

"It just seems like the friendly thing to do, welcoming her to the neighborhood."

"I have no interest in imposing myself when she already has company. I'm in no hurry to force a relationship with her. There's plenty of time. I rather prefer to observe her habits for awhile."

I sighed. "I can't say I'm surprised by your attitude. But I'm going to go ahead and introduce myself tomorrow. You're welcome to come along if you'd like."

"No thank you," Sherlock said firmly, and returned to reading his book.

The next day I stopped on my way home from work and picked up a bottle of merlot. I figured that was a pretty good housewarming gift.

When I got home it was about 19:00 and Sherlock was nowhere to be found so I headed downstairs on my own. I paused outside the new door of 221c and suddenly felt a little nervous, clutching the wine bottle in my hand. What sort of person would I be living with now?

I listened for just a moment, and didn't hear any noise from inside the flat so I knocked a bit tentatively.

"One moment!" called a cheerful, female voice. After a pause it continued, "Mrs. Hudson, is that you?"

I cleared my throat. "No," I called, "It's John Watson, your upstairs neighbor."

"I'll be right there!" she called again.

After a few more seconds, the door opened, revealing a petite woman with light brown - almost golden - eyes and skin the color of honey. She wore a black hijab and a long grey tunic over black pants. On impulse, I thrust the bottle of wine behind my back, then realized that was just making the situation more awkward.

"Hi," I said.

"Hi, I'm Alisha" she replied with an amused smile.

"Hi Alisha, I, er, brought you a housewarming gift, but I see...sorry...er, nice to meet you, I'm John and I live upstairs."

She continued smiling and extended her hand, which I shook. She had very small, delicate hands that were soft and cool to the touch.

"So nice to meet you John," she said, "Mrs. Hudson has told me about you. I'd love a glass of wine, actually, but not here. It's best if I don't have alcohol in my flat. But if you're willing, I'd be happy to meet you in your place in an hour or so?"

I was a little surprised by this, but quickly agreed, "Sure, see you later."

She went back into her flat and shut the door. I went upstairs and started tidying up a bit, checking to make sure there was nothing either hazardous or disgusting lying about. I took a couple wineglasses out of the kitchen cupboard and washed them up to make sure they weren't contaminated in any way. With Sherlock and his experiments, you can never be too careful.

It was closer to an hour and a half when I heard a soft knocking on our open sitting room door. I looked over and once again was in for a surprise. Alisha stood grinning at the doorway, head uncovered, wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants. She had long, dark brown hair that curled slightly around her face and was tied back in a loose ponytail.

"Hi! C'mon in," I said, "have a seat anywhere you'd like and I'll get you your glass of wine."

"Thanks," she said a bit shyly as she made her way over to the couch and sat down.

I poured us both rather small portions of wine and brought them over. I sat down in my armchair after handing Alisha her wine.

"Thanks," she said again as she took a sip. "I do drink a little wine now and then, don't care for beer." She smiled and continued, "Please, don't tell my family, though. They're very...strict about alcohol."

"No, of course I won't tell." I was a little startled by the request.

"So," Alisha continued, "I'll go first, and then you can tell me about yourself."

Alisha proceeded to describe her life up to that point. Her parents had fled Afghanistan after the Soviet invasion. She and her two older brothers had been born in England, which explained why she spoke English with no accent. Her parents had been killed in a car accident five years ago, shortly before she was going to start college. She described her family, including her father's family who lived here as well, as being strict Muslims. However, her mother had been able to convince her father to let Alisha go to college. After her parents' deaths, Alisha had insisted to her uncle that she be allowed to follow her parents' wishes to get her degree.

Now that she had graduated, she was teaching in an Arabic school for children. It sounded very traditional, so why was she sitting in a stranger's flat, uncovered, sipping wine?

When I asked, she laughed and said that she considered herself to be a modern woman, and would take as much freedom as she could get away with. Apparently, it had taken some convincing of her uncle, brothers, and cousins to be allowed to get a flat on her own.

"But, with my share of my parents' money they really couldn't force me, I mean, this is England, not Afghanistan," she said. "They weren't happy, but they also don't want to drive me away and possibly do something to shame them. So, when I told them about this flat with only two other units in the building, they reluctantly agreed. They think of Mrs. Hudson as sort of a chaperone. I am careful to keep myself covered around them, but once I know they are gone for the day, I uncover and do as I please."

"It's a shame you can't do as you please all of the time," I remarked.

Alisha shrugged. "How many people really have that privilege? I have my own place, a job, an education...it's more than what a lot of my friends have. I consider myself lucky."

"What made you decide to sign a twenty-year lease? If you don't mind my asking."

Alisha smiled, "Well, it's a small place, right? Too small to have anyone else live with me. It secures me my privacy for the next few decades."

"But what if you want to get married? Have kids?"

She made a face, "I don't want to get married. I've seen what happens to my married friends. And no Western boy is going to want to put up with my nightmare of a family. We'd have to elope, cut off all ties with them, and that would just be trouble, and not something I really want to do. No, I think I'm going to be very happy here, with you, Mrs. Hudson, and your boyfriend. What's his name again?"

I was stunned for a second. "You...you mean Sherlock?"

"Sherlock! Right, I remembered it was unusual when Mrs. Hudson told me. He's some sort of detective, isn't he? And you're a doctor."

"Yes, but...Sherlock isn't my boyfriend."

"Oh! He's not?"

"No, we're just flatmates, and friends, of course."

Alisha looked troubled.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Nothing...it's just...I thought you were together. That's what I told my family..." she looked at me, biting her lip. It took me a minute, but then I figured it out.

"Oh! So if they thought Sherlock and I...we wouldn't be a threat...to you?"

She nodded, looking ashamed. "I'm sorry," she said, "I shouldn't have told them that. It just sounded that way...from the way Mrs. Hudson talked about you two.

"Well, you didn't mean any harm. I'm not upset," I smiled. "We'll just try to avoid your family members when they come over. No reason to give unnecessary explanations over an honest mistake. We'll just continue to let them think Sherlock and I are together, then. For some reason, a lot of people seem to assume that about us."

Alisha seemed relieved. "Ok, sorry to be such a pain. I hate inflicting my family on others. Since I work during the day, you're most likely to see them visit me in the late afternoon or early evening. And they will be here a lot. But they're generally gone by 19:00 or before."

"Right. I'll steer clear of them and avoid having to answer any questions." I smiled.

Alisha hesitated and went on, "I think telling them that Sherlock is a detective might not be a good thing. They're kind of wary about the police and such. Being a conservative Muslim, well, it can be hard sometimes. Lots of people automatically assume you're a terrorist. Do you suppose we could tell them Sherlock is a musician? It's kind of the truth, isn't it? Mrs. Hudson told me he plays the violin and that I would probably hear it from time to time."

I shrugged. "I don't see why not. Sherlock's consulting business is rather uneven, he sometimes goes weeks without a case. But he's always a musician, especially lately. You will hear the violin. Feel free to yell at him about it. I certainly do!"

We both laughed.

"Well," Alisha said, "I think in general it won't be too hard to keep my family out of your hair. They come to see me and aren't particularly anxious to make friends outside their circle." She paused. "Thanks for everything. I'm really glad to meet you and I know I'm going to love living here. But, I better call it a night. I have to get up early to teach tomorrow morning."

"It's nice to meet you Alisha. Pop up whenever you'd like. Our door is generally open if either of us is home, so drop in any time."

Alisha smiled and got up off the couch. "Great! Well, I'll probably see you tomorrow, I still haven't heard your story. Mrs. Hudson says you were in Afghanistan! I can't wait to hear all about it! Good night!"

"Good night, Alisha."

She went downstairs and I washed up the wine glasses and corked the bottle. I wondered idly where Sherlock might be.

After I had eaten some leftover curry for dinner, I felt unexpectedly tired, although it wasn't that late. I decided I would go ahead and call it a night myself.

As I got ready for bed, I found myself smiling over the memories of Alisha's and my conversation. She seemed like a really nice person; someone I wouldn't mind living upstairs from at all. The family sounded a little dour, but if Alisha didn't think it would be too bad, it probably wouldn't be. I also figured that after a few months they would probably stop feeling like they needed to check up on her all the time.

Just before I fell asleep, I reminded myself that I needed to let Sherlock know that, for the purposes of Alisha's family, we were considered a couple. But of course, I fell asleep and had forgotten all about it by the next morning.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thanks so much to PlantInABoot for the reviews and the helpful suggestions! I apologize that it is taking me longer to update this story than "Adventure of the Swinging Snitch". I'm really busy and I only get a few stolen moments here and there to work on my writing. However, if you like this story, I do find reviews extremely motivating! :-)

The Enemy of My Enemy – Chapter 3

Alisha and I fell into a comfortable pattern of visits almost immediately. I never saw her in the mornings, apparently she left for work before I would get up. In the evenings I would sometimes hear visitors come and go from her flat. After they were gone for the night, Alisha would slip upstairs for a chat and a small glass of wine.

We worked through my history, my experiences in Afghanistan, and the experiences I'd had with Sherlock since my return. She listened to all of it with extreme interest, especially regarding my time in the army. She had never been to Afghanistan herself but was very fascinated to hear my descriptions and impressions of the land of her predecessors. At the end she would sigh and shake her head and express hope for a better future.

"Although," she said one night, "different sorts define that in different ways. My vision is not the vision my family has." She stopped suddenly and looked at me uncertainly. "Don't get me wrong, I...I consider myself a devout Muslim. I just don't believe in the way it's practiced by my family." She bit her lip. There followed an awkward silence.

"Hey," I said, trying to change the subject a bit, "I have a proper housewarming gift for you. Let me go get it."

I ran back to my room, retrieved the item and hurried back.

"Sorry I haven't wrapped it or anything, but I thought you might like it. It's one of the things I brought back from Afghanistan."

She took the flat, carved piece of wood from my hands and looked at it intently, running her fingers over the intricate shapes of leaves and flowers.

I smiled. "It's folded up. Pull it apart."

She found the groove that divided the two halves and gave a small gasp as the two pieces that were joined formed a small X-shaped stand.

"Oh!" She exclaimed, "a Quran stand. It's beautiful, John, thank you!" She looked at me with shining eyes.

"I don't own a Quran," I said, "The only thing I've been using it for is to keep a paperback copy of _Arabian Nights_ on it. So, I hope you'll be able to put it to its proper use."

She leapt off the couch and came over and hugged me for a second, then pulled away just as quickly. I couldn't help but wonder how many male non-family members she had ever hugged.

"I'm going back to my flat right now to set it up. Thanks so much John. Tomorrow night I'll bring you down to see it in use!"

After she left I cleaned our wineglasses as usual, and threw the now-empty wine bottle away. We had taken awhile to drink it, as we would each have only one small glass each night. I mused to myself that I should think about keeping wine on hand from now on. It gave me a warm feeling. I liked having Alisha around. It had been a good week.

As I was puttering around the kitchen smiling to myself I heard Sherlock come home. In spite of Alisha's interest in him, he had so little returned the favor that they still had yet to meet.

"Hey you," I called, "Where have you been hiding yourself lately?"

Sherlock came into the kitchen looking a little tired. "Oh, I've been doing some rather tricky experiments at Bart's this week. Stuff that I don't have the space or equipment for here."

"Do I want to hear about them?"

"Probably not, Molly's been sick on me three times this week. I've been taking her out for drinks each evening to try and make it up to her. It's been a little exhausting."

"Sherlock! I'm impressed! You're making an effort to be nice to Molly?"

He grimaced at me. "Yes, and it's all your fault. But I'm finished for now, thank God."

I laughed. "Tomorrow's Friday. How about you and I get dinner at Angelo's tomorrow night? I haven't seen you all week practically. I want to hear more about you and Molly out drinking together. I wish I'd known about it, I would have loved to be a fly on the wall for that."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "It was dull, you didn't miss anything except stories about her cat."

I was grinning. It wasn't Molly I would have liked to observe. It was the idea of long-suffering Sherlock listening to her that I found humorous.

Sherlock consented to the plan of dinner at Angelo's, so after I got back from work the next day we headed out. Of course Angelo insisted that we have our usual table in the window, along with the customary candle. Over dinner Sherlock told me about his week at Bart's with his experiments and Molly. I won't bother to explain the disgusting details here. I could see the practical application of it for Sherlock's line of work, though. It wasn't what you could call "polite dinner conversation," but I had learned long ago that with Sherlock those sorts of social niceties were considered expendable. Fortunately for both of us my experiences as a doctor and soldier have made me a bit more tolerant of those sorts of Sherlockian quirks than the average person.

We ambled back to the flat after dinner, Sherlock complaining about Molly's cat stories in a way that was intentionally funny. We came in the front door of 221 chuckling, and ran right into Alisha and a bunch of men who were apparently just leaving her flat.

We all stopped and stared at each other. I could see a definite family resemblance to Alisha in some of the faces. _This must be the brothers, uncle, and cousins, then_, I thought.

I locked eyes with Alisha and, something like fear passed across her face for just an instant. That momentary look reminded me of her stated nervousness about her family's attitude about her living in a building with strange men.

_OH CRAP!_ my brain screamed at me, _I never told Sherlock that Alisha's family thinks we're a couple!_

Alisha spoke first, "Hello Dr. Watson. My brothers, uncle, and cousins came to visit me after Friday prayers today."

Alisha proceeded to introduce me to each of her family members beginning with her uncle, Ahmad. He was the only one I shook hands with. He quickly let go after giving me a curt nod of the head. The last person Alisha introduced was described as a friend of the uncle's, Uzair. He stood at the back of the group and shot me a look of undisguised malice. Something in his eyes made me give an inward shudder that I was careful not to show outwardly. Instead, I gave him a steady look in which I tried to say _you can't bully me in my home_.

After the introductions were finished there was a slight pause. Alisha shot me another furtively nervous glance. It made me realize that Sherlock was still standing silently beside me and hadn't been included in the introductions. I had temporarily forgotten that he and Alisha hadn't met yet, so it was all up to me.

I was praying that the telepathy that Sherlock and I sometimes seemed to have would get us through this. I have to confess that I never even considered revealing that Sherlock and I weren't together. I wanted to do whatever would allow Alisha to keep her hard-won freedom.

I turned slightly toward Sherlock, trying to catch his eye. "This is Sherlock," I began, _holy crap what am I going to call him? Boyfriend? Sounds juvenile. Lover? Ick, too precious. Husband? No, we don't have rings. Partner? No, too ambiguous, I want to make it clear. Life-partner? Yikes! Too pretentious. Well, guess I'll go with juvenile..._"my, er, boyfriend."

All that takes a long time to read, I know, but it flew through my head so quickly that there was barely a pause at all. I tried to smile naturally as if it were an introduction I made all the time. I was standing quite close to Sherlock in the crowded entryway, and I could feel his body go stiff. I glanced at his face and the polite smile he'd been wearing had turned into a frozen mask. He didn't glance at me at all as he shook hands briefly with Ahmad, the uncle. I noticed a few of the young men shift on their feet a bit uncomfortably. The friend, Uzair, looked positively hateful.

Alisha spoke up, a with a bit of forced brightness, "John tells me you're a musician. I've heard you play your violin sometimes. You play beautifully."

Sherlock inclined his head modestly and mumbled something that sounded like, "too kind."

"Well," I said, "Pleasure to meet you all. Have a great evening."

We all sort of nodded goodbye at each other and I followed Sherlock up the stairs to our flat.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: At the end of the last chapter, John introduced Sherlock to Alisha's family as his boyfriend in the hopes that it would help smooth over Alisha's living in a building with male non-family members. Unfortunately, he had failed to inform Sherlock of this plan ahead of time...

The Enemy of My Enemy - Chapter 4

As I followed Sherlock up the stairs to our flat I was almost weak with relief that Sherlock had played along with the boyfriend ruse. As Sherlock fumbled with the sitting room door I could hear the voices of Alisha's family rumbling at the front door as they said their goodbyes.

Sherlock finally got the door open and I followed him in, closing the door behind me. I leaned up against it with a sigh of relief. Sherlock turned around and fixed me with a stare so intense it could almost start a fire.

"John," he began, his voice husky and urgent.

I put my finger to my lips and jerked my head toward the door. I wasn't sure Alisha's family had left yet, and I didn't want them to overhear anything that would jeopardize the illusion we'd just created.

I grabbed the remote from the coffee table and turned on the telly, then beckoned Sherlock into the kitchen. He followed me with a look of growing confusion.

"I'm so sorry, Sherlock. I forgot to tell you this...Alisha told her family that you and I are a couple. It was a misunderstanding initially, but I told her that it was fine. You see, they are very conservative, and they don't like Alisha living with strange men in the building. So, if we pretend we're a couple, then Alisha's family won't see us as a threat to her...in a sexual way. I told her it was fine and that we'd play along...but I forgot to tell you."

As I spoke Sherlock flushed deeper and deeper. When I finished, there was an awkward moment of silence while his eyes continued to bore holes through me.

Finally, he spoke in a tight voice and almost seemed to be struggling to breathe, "So, you and this girl concocted this plan to deceive her family. A plan that intimately involves me, and you couldn't be bothered to mention it to me, let alone ask me my thoughts or... opinions on the matter? Instead you just thrust me into the situation with no warning and just expected me to play along in your little game?" He paused for a second. "How...how could you do that?" he ended with a note of hurt creeping into his voice.

I was deeply ashamed. "I'm so sorry, Sherlock," I said again. "I just...forgot. I meant to tell you, and of course if you hadn't wanted to do it we wouldn't have..."

"You _forgot_?" Sherlock broke in. "You forgot to mention to me that 'oh yeah Sherlock, by the way, we're in a romantic relationship 'til further notice'? Just slipped your mind, did it?"

"I meant to tell you. I just...haven't seen you all week..."

Sherlock pulled his phone out of his coat pocket and began tapping on it saying, "Sherlock, I need to talk to you about something important...aaaaaand _send_." He jabbed at the button on his phone, then looked at me. I didn't think I'd ever seen him so angry.

"I'm sorry, I just didn't think..."

Sherlock cut me off, "Of course you didn't. You saw a damsel in distress and rode in on your white stallion wearing your shining armor to 'rescue' her and _damn_ any consequences!" He drew a deep breath and turned away.

"No, no Sherlock," I protested, "it wasn't like that. I would never...I didn't mean to hurt you!"

He whirled back around to me, eyes blazing. "You didn't _hurt_ me. I just wish you would...try thinking things through once in a while. But I suppose that's too much to ask, beyond your capabilities...isn't it?"

"Sherlock, _please_..." I took a step toward him and reached for him, wanting to make him understand that I was sorry.

Almost instantly, the anger in his eyes was replaced by something that almost looked like fear. He backed away and looked at me, breathing hard. I stopped my advance.

For just an instant, it seemed as if all of Sherlock's defenses fell apart and he looked shaken, scared, and hurt. He looked at me with eyes wide and frightened and whispered, "I thought...John, how could you do this to me?"

I was momentarily too stunned to make a response. Instantly, the shields were back and his face wore an expression of contempt. He whirled around, and went toward the door. He was still wearing his coat and scarf. He yanked open the sitting room door.

"Where are you going?" I called.

"OUT!" He paused and then added sarcastically, "I need some air!" And with that he slammed the door behind him, ran down the stairs and out the front door. I ran over to our front windows and watched him march rapidly toward the park. Once he was out of sight, I sat down on the couch to think and be miserable.

How could I have been so unthinking? So uncaring of my best friend? There really was no excuse for it, and no way to undo what had been done. The only thing I could do was to apologize and hope that he could eventually forgive me. After about thirty minutes of sitting on the couch reviewing my sins, I suddenly realized the telly was still on. I shut it off, as I wasn't in the mood for senseless babble. I laid down on the couch and closed my eyes, still berating myself for my stupidity. As I lay there, my head on the cushion, I realized that it smelled like Sherlock. No big surprise, as he spent several hours of most nights with his head on it. Just at that moment I also realized how quiet and empty the flat seemed.

I got up and wandered our small space, feeling the difference between, "Sherlock out on business" and "Sherlock has emphatically GONE." It was a lonely feeling, and one I had never felt before.

I got my phone out of my jacket and sent a text.

_Please forgive me. Please come home - JW_

There was no response.

A few hours later, I was lying on the couch again. I had decided that I was going to wait up for Sherlock, no matter how long it took. I wanted to make sure he knew how sorry I was, and ask him in person to forgive me for behaving like such a bad friend.

My phone was on the coffee table, and it gave a chirp. I eagerly grabbed it, but the incoming message was from a number I didn't recognize. I opened it up.

_Why is Sherlock here heaping abuse on me? GL_

It took me a moment, and then I realized - Sherlock must have gone to see Lestrade.

I replied: _Sorry, we had a row. JW_

_Can I help? _

_No, its pretty complicated _

_O! I see! ;-) Explains the bad mood! _

I was getting ready to text him back _No, it's not like that_ , when I suddenly realized that it kind of was "like that", but not in the way Lestrade was thinking.

After a pause, I replied the only way I could think of.

_Can you get him to come home? _

_I'll see what I can do_

There was a pause of about ten minutes. Then, another text came through from Lestrade.

_Hes looking thru some old cases I had. Says hell come back in morn. Im going to bed. Good luck. GL_

_Thanks - JW_ I replied.

I decided to spend the night on the couch so I could greet Sherlock as soon as he came back. I knew I would pay the price of an aching shoulder the next day, but I deserved to suffer for my sins. I felt it was important that Sherlock and I talk again as soon as possible. After all, this whole situation was caused by me not talking to him when I should have.

So I changed into my t-shirt and pajama pants, pulled out an extra blanket and settled myself on the couch for the remainder of the night.

To be continued...

A/N: This was a scary chapter to write. I would really love to hear reactions to it. I apologize that it's so short. I have a lot of stuff going on right now and it's really hard to find time to write.


	5. Chapter 5

The Enemy of My Enemy - Chapter 5

I tossed and turned on the couch, waiting for Sherlock to come home. I dozed off and on, and around 6:30 I heard the front door open and Sherlock's step on the stairs. I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and sat up.

He came through the door carrying a large stack of file folders of varying thicknesses. He stopped short on seeing me on the couch, wrapped in a blanket.

"What are you doing?" He asked.

"Waiting for you," I replied.

"You spent the night on the couch? You said you couldn't sleep on the couch."

"Well, I wanted to see you when you got back."

Sherlock shook his head. "Lestrade told you I'd be back in the morning. Waiting on the couch was unnecessary."

There was an awkward pause, then Sherlock nodded at me. "Budge up so I can sit down."

He came over the couch and sat next to me, setting the large stack of files on the coffee table.

"Sherlock," I began, "I want to tell you again how sorry I am. What I did was really unfair to you and I hope you can forgive me."

Sherlock fiddled around with the files for a moment, then turned and looked at me and sighed. "Yes, John, I forgive you." He paused and added thoughtfully, "you've forgiven me for so many things...on a daily basis I suppose." He smiled at me, a bit ruefully.

I shrugged and said, "Well, this instance was a bit more... personal."

After a moment I asked, "So what do we do now?"

"About what?"

"Well, I guess about Alisha and her family."

Sherlock shrugged, "What can we do? Do we go back and tell them we lied? I don't think so. I think we're stuck with each other, as far as they're concerned."

I tried to put a positive spin on it, "Well, Alisha told me that it shouldn't be too hard to just avoid meeting up with them, and I'm thinking that as time goes on they'll stop visiting so frequently."

Sherlock spoke again, with some hesitation, "John, you do realize that while it may protect Alisha to an extent, our status as homosexuals doesn't exactly endear us to her family?"

My mind flashed back to the uncomfortable, short handshake I'd shared with Alisha's uncle Ahmad and the naked hatred in Uzair's face. "Yes, I know," I said.

There was a pause. I noticed that Sherlock looked troubled and thoughtful.

I continued, "Does it really matter, though? What they think of us?"

Sherlock was quiet for a long minute. He seemed to be having some sort of inner struggle.

Finally, he turned to me and said very seriously, "John...I need to tell you something. " He paused. "After last night...I think that it would be best if we not keep things from each other anymore. Especially if it can affect our safety." He stopped and chewed his bottom lip.

"Sherlock? " His hesitation was making me very nervous. "What is it?"

Sherlock looked at me steadily for a few more seconds and said, "Mycroft asked me to keep watch over Alisha."

"What?" I don't know what I was thinking he was going to say, but that certainly wasn't it.

"He told me to keep it in strictest confidence, national security and all that rubbish, but I don't care. Not if it can end up with you being harmed."

My brain flowered with so many questions I hardly knew where to begin. "Watch Alisha? Why?"

Sherlock shook his head. "He didn't really give me any information. I don't know if he's worried about what she might do, or if he is worried for her safety. He just told me to keep an eye on her and let him know if I noticed anything that might be of concern. That's why he came over the day the workmen started fixing up her place. He said he was going to be away, and to please keep an eye on Alisha."

I felt as if the wind were knocked out of me. Alisha? Under surveillance by the Holmes brothers?

"But Sherlock_, you've_ hardly been around! How can you be watching her?"

"I haven't been," Sherlock replied with a grimace.

I was confused for a moment, but only a moment. "Oh, I see how it is. He gives you a job so you pointedly refuse to do it, as usual."

Sherlock huffed in annoyance. "He has plenty of minions at his disposal. Why should I have to waste my time? Plus, I know he has this place under watch as it is."

"So why would he ask you to do it, then?"

"I don't know." Sherlock bit his lower lip again.

"Listen, John," he continued after a pause. "Alisha's family might have made her move out, rather than have her live with us as straight men. But as gay men, our very existence is a moral affront." He paused again, and looked at me earnestly. "Just...be careful...OK?"

I laughed. "Sherlock, this is England! What do you think they're going to do? Cut off my head? If they find us that objectionable, they'll make Alisha move out anyway. They can hate us all they want, I don't care. But I really don't think we're in any physical danger, do you?"

Sherlock shook his head. "I don't know. All I know is Mycroft is concerned, either about Alisha or the people that surround her. It makes me uneasy that you're now an obvious target for their bigotry."

"Me? What about you? Aren't you just as much of a target?"

"Hmmm. Maybe." Sherlock mused, "But you're also an Afghanistan veteran. That probably doesn't work in your favor either. Did you tell Alisha that you fought in Afghanistan?

"Yes. Well, Mrs. Hudson did, and Alisha and I have talked about it."

"Then we have to assume that she has told her family. It might not matter, but just take reasonable precautions. I would advise against visiting her in her own flat, for instance."

I mulled all this over in my head while Sherlock started leafing through the stack of case folders in front of him. I just couldn't believe that Alisha could possibly be involved in something dangerous. She seemed so open, so earnest in her desire to be tolerant and modern and to get away from the intolerant ideas of her family. Could it all be an act? I didn't believe it, I decided it had to be her family that Mycroft was suspicious of. I thought about them, and their obvious disapproval of Sherlock and me last night. I started to feel angry.

As if he could sense it, Sherlock turned to me and asked, "What's the matter now?"

"I don't know how to explain it, really," I said. "I've always considered myself tolerant. I mean, I grew up with a gay sister. I've always believed that we're all just human and deserve to be treated fairly. I never allowed anyone to mistreat Harry, in spite of our personal differences. But...somehow now being on the other side...it just makes me mad in a way I've never really felt before. How dare they hate me for loving you? In what way does it affect them? How does it hurt them?"

"I'm assuming your questions are rhetorical, because I'm sure you're well aware that the fundamentalist practitioners of the Abrahamic religions indoctrinate their followers to consider certain sexual acts as..."

"Yes, yes I know," I cut him off grumpily. "It just seems crazy to me. How do they think they have the power to tell people who they can or can't love? Everyone deserves to be free to follow their heart."

"Well, John, it's simple really. They believe that God gives them the authority to peek into people's bedrooms and police sexual behavior."

I sighed and said, "I know all this, but I'll never really _understand_ it. And that's fine with me, really, I don't want to understand. Stupid bronze-age mentality. It makes me want to give you a big, wet kiss in front of them next time."

Sherlock winced. " I appreciate the sentiment John, but I don't think it would be advisable. If you really care about Alisha, it's probably best not to antagonize her family purposely. Plus, it wouldn't be healthy for us, the human mouth is rife with bacteria and..."

I held up my hand to stop him, "Ok, I get it. I have a boyfriend who can't stand the thought of kissing me." I sighed dramatically.

Just then Sherlock's phone rang. He jumped at bit, startled at the sound, fished it out of his pocket and looked at it.

"It's Lestrade. I better answer I suppose." He pressed the button, "Sherlock Holmes," he stated in his posh, business-like tone.

The phone immediately erupted in an angry buzzing. Sherlock flinched and held the phone slightly away from his ear.

Sherlock's side of the conversation with an apparently irate Lestrade went like this:

"Well...you _did _give the files to me last night...you never specifically said that...I work better at home...I need access to my own files...do you want my help or not?...I'm pretty sure you did ask, actually...FINE! I'll bring them by the yard on Monday...oh yeah, and you're welcome."

Sherlock hung up and glared at the phone, "Honestly, I've never met a man who gets so tetchy over minor details."

"Minor details like the theft of case files from his flat?"

Sherlock ignore me. He looked at his watch and then back to the pile of case files, "Just past seven John! I have approximately 50 hours to solve all these cases!" He smiled at me and rubbed his hands together as if he were a kid about to open all his presents at Christmas.

"Right," I said, "shall I leave you to it, then? I was thinking I might go and get some proper sleep in my bed."

Sherlock waved me off, already sorting the files into separate piles, "Yes, yes, go have a lie-in John."

"You'll get me if you need me for anything dangerous?"

Sherlock looked up with amusement. "John, some of these cases are so old, the perpetrators have possibly died of old age. Danger is highly unlikely. But they are unsolved, and some of them are certainly interesting puzzles. That's why Lestrade had collected them in his flat, he still wanted to work on them in his spare time. There's nothing dangerous here, it's all mental work. I might possibly go to a few of the locations, though," he mused as he looked at one particular file.

"Fine," I yawned, "I'm going to bed, then. Good luck."

Sherlock didn't reply, he was already lost in the case notes. 

To be continued...

A/N: Another very scary chapter to write. I had to rewrite it a bunch of times. Please let me know what you think. Sorry it's just dialogue this time around. I promise to get back to the plot in the next chapter...


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Sorry it's taking me so long to update this story. It's hard to squeeze in writing time right now. To make matters worse, I'll be out of town next week, so this might be the last chapter for a few weeks. :-(

But, I'll do my very best to get this finished before the trip...

The Enemy of My Enemy - Chapter 6

_Sherlock looked up with amusement. "John, some of these cases are so old, the perpetrators have possibly died of old age. Danger is highly unlikely. But they are unsolved, and some of them are certainly interesting puzzles. That's why Lestrade had collected them in his flat, he still wanted to work on them in his spare time. There's nothing dangerous here, it's all mental work. I might possibly go to a few of the locations, though," he mused as he looked at one particular file._

_"Fine," I yawned, "I'm going to bed, then. Good luck."_

_Sherlock didn't reply, he was already lost in the case notes._

I awoke a little after noon still feeling a bit groggy from my restless night. My mood was greatly improved, however. It was a great relief that Sherlock and I were able to patch things up after the "boyfriend" blunder of mine.

I came downstairs to find Sherlock preparing to leave. He was crackling with energy.

"John! I'm headed out to test some of my theories. I might be late so don't wait on me for anything. Don't touch...anything," he said as he scanned the several piles of case files arranged on our furniture. "I have a system going. Don't worry, it'll all be gone come Monday."

"Do you need any help?" I asked.

"Not likely. I'm not going to be apprehending anyone, just verifying some of my ideas on several of the cases. Any arrests can wait for Lestrade on Monday."

I must have looked dissatisfied because Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I promise I'll contact you if I sense danger. But don't hold your breath."

With a swirl of his coat and scarf, he was gone, clattering down the stairs and out the front door. Then, I heard his voice, speaking to someone outside on the street. I looked out our sitting room windows and saw Sherlock shaking hands with one of the young men of Alisha's family from last night. I couldn't make out the words that they were saying, but Sherlock was gesturing toward the building and then came back to the door with the young man and I heard the door open. I heard "Thank you," and "Goodbye," and then a slow ascent up the stairs to our flat.

Our sitting room door was open as usual, and as I turned toward the door I saw a the young man approach and tap the open door uncertainly.

"Hello, come in," I said. Sherlock had apparently met him outside the building and sent him up here. I wondered why.

"Hello," he replied, somewhat nervously. "I am Alisha's cousin, Zakariyya. I came to meet her here, but she isn't home yet. Your friend met me outside and said I should wait for her in here."

"Come in, come in," I said, "Yes, please do wait here rather than out in the street. I believe we met last night? I'm John." I walked over and extended my hand.

"Yes," he shook my hand politely, "please call me Zak."

"Please have a seat," I said as I cleared a space on the couch, "can I get you a cuppa while you wait? I was just about to brew some up as I just got out of bed. I'm having a bit of a lazy Saturday."

"That's nice, thank you," he still seemed a bit on edge as he seated himself on the couch.

I went into the kitchen to make the tea, glancing in his direction whenever I got the chance. He looked around 16 or 17 years old, tall and slender with dark hair and eyes. He had the same honey-colored skin and some of the same facial features as Alisha. He didn't look as if he were hate-filled, only a bit fearful, as his eyes darted around, taking in his surroundings. Just like Alisha he spoke English with no foreign accent, so I concluded he was probably born here as well.

I finished making the tea and gave him a mug which he began sipping hesitantly. I cleared off my chair and sat down with mine. We began conversing. I asked him about school and his plans for uni. He asked me about working at the surgery. It turned out that he was considering medicine as a career.

Throughout our conversation he never really relaxed, and kept looking around the flat with a mixture of anxiety and curiosity. After about ten minutes I heard the front door open.

"That'll be Alisha," Zak said, setting down his mug of tea. "Thanks for letting me stay. I - I'll see you later."

He seemed a bit hesitant, as if he wasn't sure if he should shake my hand again or not. After a slight pause he said goodbye and hurried out the door and down the stairs.

I watched him go with a mixture of amusement and sadness. He didn't show any obvious bigotry or hatred, but he was clearly ill at ease in my presence. But, I took it as a positive sign that he was willing to sit with me and drink my tea, if only out of pained politeness. It was a sign of tolerance. I sighed to myself, feeling guilty about the deceit behind it all, but I only had myself to blame for that.

After taking a nice long shower I spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning up the kitchen, which hadn't been done in quite some time. I never heard from Sherlock, not even a text. That wasn't all that unusual and I wasn't concerned as I could see from his various piles that he had quite a bit to keep him busy.

I went out and got takeaway Chinese for dinner. I got a bit extra for Sherlock just in case, although I doubted he would eat the entire weekend as he tried to finish all the cases before having to give them back to Lestrade on Monday.

I had just finished when Alisha showed up at my door. She made an apology for last night, but I waved it off. I told her that Sherlock and I had agreed that we would let the deception stand, at least for now. She shook her head and sighed.

"I'm so sorry to be so much trouble."

I wasn't quite sure what to say so I jokingly said, "Well, it's all part of being a good neighbor."

"Speaking of that, thanks for having Zak in for tea while he was waiting for me. He mentioned how nice both you and Sherlock were to him."

"Oh, it was nothing, happy to do it."

Alisha then talked a little bit about him, saying that he might be over to visit fairly often.

"He has a little bit of a hard time at home. He's the youngest of three sons and my uncle is pretty mean to him sometimes. He feels that Zak was babied too much by my aunt, since he was the youngest. Zak's feeling a bit...bullied I guess."

I shook my head, not understanding why a father would want to make his own son miserable in his own home.

Alisha and I shared a glass of wine and watched some crap telly until fairly late. Just before midnight, we heard Sherlock come in the front door. We heard him bound up the stairs, sounding every bit as energetic as when he had left nearly twelve hours ago.

He burst into the sitting room and stopped short at the sight of Alisha and I sitting on the couch with our wineglasses.

"You're uncovered!" He blurted out, then immediately winced. Sherlock hates it when people state the obvious and it must have especially pained him to catch himself at it.

Alisha laughed, "Didn't John tell you? I don't bother with the hijab when I know my family isn't around. It makes my neck itch."

"Would you like to join us in a glass of wine, Sherlock?" I offered.

"No, never drink while on a case, or 26 cases as it is at the moment," he replied. "I have 12 done, 3 are unworkable, so I have 8 more to go. And the clock is ticking!" He rubbed his hands together, eager to get back to work.

Alisha rose from the couch, "I should go to bed. Thanks for the wine and company, John. Nice to see you Sherlock, good luck with your cases. See you tomorrow!"

She headed downstairs. Sherlock followed her to the door of the flat and stood listening until he heard the faint sound of her own flat door closing and locking.

He whirled around to me. "Why didn't you tell me that she had been uncovering for you, and drinking wine?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. Never occurred to me."

Sherlock huffed impatiently. "John, you _need_ to start _telling _me things!"

"I didn't realize it was that important."

"John, it's terribly important! It means that Alisha is probably not who Mycroft is concerned about. In fact, she may even be spying on her family for him. It's a possibility anyway. Or, she is _really_ dedicated to deceiving us into thinking that she's a liberal Muslim. Like a cop that shoots heroin while undercover."

Sherlock chewed his lower lip, thinking hard. After a moment he shrugged in disgust. "I refuse to waste my time on Mycroft's problem. We know he's watching the building, and I wouldn't be surprised if he has her flat bugged. Alisha and her family are not my concern."

He shrugged, "John, if you don't mind, I need to get back to work."

I could see I was being chivvied from the sitting room.

"OK, I'll let you get to it, then. There's Chinese in the refrigerator if you want food."

Sherlock only grunted in disgust.

I headed for my room, but stopped at the sitting room door.

"Sherlock."

"Hmm?"

"Do you suppose Mycroft has_ our_ flat bugged?"

Sherlock looked up from the case file he'd opened and gave me a dark look. "No, because he knows if he did, I would find them, and then I would break both his arms and legs."

"Right. Goodnight."

I went to bed smiling.

A/N: Ok, so not a whole lot happened there in that chapter, but I promise the next few will be much more exciting!


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: The implied slash gets a little thick in this chapter. Nothing actually happens, just further development of the "relationship" John and Sherlock are faking for Alisha's family. But if you are allergic to slash, you might not want to read...

The Enemy of My Enemy – Chapter 7

_"Sherlock."_

_"Hmm?"_

_"Do you suppose Mycroft has __our__ flat bugged?"_

_Sherlock looked up from the case file he'd opened and gave me a dark look. "No, because he knows if he did, I would find them, and then I would break both his arms and legs."_

_"Right. Goodnight."_

_I went to bed smiling._

The next morning I came downstairs to find Sherlock sprawled on the couch with his laptop. He was poking at it a bit blearily. I did some quick calculations and concluded that it had been at least three nights now since he had slept, and it looked like the strain was beginning to show. I had been through this before and knew that Sherlock was probably going to be quite irritable until he got some sleep, voluntary or otherwise. So after serving him some tea (my offer of breakfast was ignored) I left to run my weekly errands.

I came home hours later to find Sherlock asleep on the couch, his fingers still on his keyboard. I extracted his laptop and plugged it into the charger. He was still asleep when I went to bed that night, and also when I came down Monday morning for an early shift at the surgery.

I went over to the couch to check on Sherlock, as he had been asleep now for well over twelve hours. I grasped his wrist to check his pulse. He opened his eyes.

"Hey there," I said, "just wanted to make sure you were ok. Please try to eat and drink something. You've been quite busy this weekend. It's time to refuel."

He didn't say anything, just continued to look up at me from the couch.

"I'm off. I have an early shift at the surgery. Good luck with Lestrade today. Remember, he's had those cases for years, so...be nice."

Sherlock's expression became a bit sulky.

"Just try for me, ok?" I asked.

He rolled his eyes and mumbled something that I took to be a reluctant agreement.

I got home from my shift in the mid-afternoon to find Zak outside the building. He explained that he was waiting for Alisha to get home so I invited him up for tea again. He agreed, looking much less nervous than he had the other day.

Sherlock was out, probably still working with Lestrade, so I put on the kettle for Zak and I. He sat down, still looking around the flat curiously, but without the fear from the time before.

We chatted over our tea for a few minutes and then after a brief pause Zak asked, "Did you always know that you were...different?"

As soon as the words were out of his mouth he blushed deeply and looked as if he wanted to take them back. He looked down into his mug of tea, which he seemed to be gripping more tightly than necessary. The question had been asked with a pained sort of desperation. It was clear that something was troubling him. I felt rather horrible, how could I answer without more deceit? On the other hand, this young man was clearly troubled and needed support. I had to do the best I could in the situation I had inadvertently created.

"Er, gay, you mean?" I asked. I figured it would be best to be absolutely clear on what we were speaking of.

Zak nodded.

"I suppose so," I said thoughtfully. "I mean, it didn't really matter much when I was younger, you know. I became more aware of it as I got older."

"Was it hard...with your family?" Zak asked.

"Well, I grew up with an older sister who was gay, so I suppose I was lucky in that respect. I always had a supportive family." _Something you sure won't have, poor kid, if you are gay._ I thought to myself.

Zak was silent for a moment, then asked, "How did the two of you meet?"

"Sherlock and I?"

He nodded.

"A mutual friend introduced us. Sherlock was looking for a flatmate and our friend introduced us." I paused. "We only became a couple after we moved in together."

"So you didn't know about each other...when you moved in?"

"Not at all. We had barely met, it was a financial arrangement, allowing us to afford a nicer place together than we could separately. But, we quickly became friends and then...well it all just developed over time." I found that I was smiling, this was becoming surprisingly easy.

"But how did you find out...about each other?" Zak flushed again, "if you don't mind me asking."

"Oh, well..." I paused, "I suppose I was kind of smitten with Sherlock from the beginning. He's so brilliant, a genuine genius. Listening to him, hearing his observations on the world is just such a rush. He opened my eyes to things that I never noticed before. Living with him is like living life on a whole new level. Plus, of course, he is so handsome." _Good Lord listen to me! I sound like a schoolgirl._

I paused, but from the expression on Zak's face, it seemed he wanted me to continue.

"Well, er, I never thought Sherlock could possibly be interested in me. I'm _not_ handsome or a genius, just a retired army doctor, nothing special like him. Nothing ever would have happened if he hadn't made the first move."

I stopped to sip my tea, wondering if Zak would try to get a more specific story. I was hoping that would be sufficient.

"Talking about me, love?" called Sherlock from the door of the sitting room. I had been so engrossed in talking to Zak that I had failed to hear the front door or Sherlock's steps on the stairs.

"Sherlock!" I sputtered into my tea as I felt myself blush.

"My ears were burning," Sherlock continued, taking off his coat and smiling.

"Er, Zak and I were just having tea and a chat. I was, erm, reminiscing a bit." _Can my face get any hotter?_ I wondered somewhat feverishly.

Sherlock came up behind my chair, rested his hands on my shoulders, kissed the top of my head and said, "All good memories, I hope?" _He's doing this to punish me for creating this situation. _I thought._ He's trying to make me as uncomfortable as I made him the other night. Well, I guess he's entitled to his revenge._

"Of...of course," I stammered. _Pull yourself together, Watson!_ I told myself sternly._ You're going to blow the whole ruse if you can't keep your composure! _I decided a change of subject was crucial.

"Sherlock, would you mind playing something for us while Zak waits for Alisha to come home? I don't think he's heard you play yet."

"Certainly!" Sherlock exclaimed. I had never had the nerve to specifically ask Sherlock to play, but he seemed to be genuinely pleased to be asked. Of course, I didn't know how much was an act for Zak's benefit. Sherlock got his violin and spent a few minutes preparing and tuning.

When he started to play I began to doubt the wisdom of my idea. He started playing Elgar's _Nimrod_ variation, which Sherlock had once told me made him think of me. His choice of _that piece_ at _that moment_ had my face burning again. It didn't help that Sherlock played the piece while staring at me with what I can only describe as "bedroom eyes".

At the end of the piece Zak and I clapped, and we were joined by Alisha, who was standing in the sitting room doorway. She had apparently arrived during the piece and had come up to listen.

Alisha and Zak complimented Sherlock profusely which he accepted with a slight flush of pleasure. They then went downstairs to Alisha's flat.

Once they were safely away I turned to Sherlock and asked, "Whatever happened to not antagonizing Alisha's family with blatant displays of affection?"

Sherlock arched an eyebrow at me. "Who is telling the tale of how our romantic relationship began?" he asked. "Speaking of that, I'm dying to hear what the move was that I made that declared my feelings for you."

I flushed again. "I don't know! I was making it up as I went. I was hoping I wouldn't have to give any specific details."

After a pause Sherlock said, "Well, clearly Zak is a different case from the others."

"Yes," I mused, "it does seem that way, doesn't it?" I paused, "Poor kid."

Sherlock nodded, serious now. "It'll be very difficult for him."

I sighed, "I feel guilty about it."

"Why?"

"Because I feel like he needs support from a couple like us, but we're actually deceiving him."

Sherlock gave me a searching look. "And how could you fix that, John?"

I didn't have an answer for him.

To be continued...

A/N: Would love to hear thoughts and reactions to this chapter. This might be the last chapter up until after March 22nd, as I am going on holiday...but feedback on this in the meantime means improved chapters after I return!


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: I'm back! Sorry it's taken me so long to update. I was out of town, and then had a mountain of work to tackle once I returned. This chapter includes Sherlock recounting some of his backstory. It was an incident I had come up with awhile ago, and was planning to use in a later story, however, it popped out now. Please let me know what you think.

The Enemy of My Enemy - Chapter 8

_After a pause Sherlock said, "Well, clearly Zak is a different case from the others."_

_"Yes," I mused, "it does seem that way, doesn't it?" I paused, "Poor kid."_

_Sherlock nodded, serious now. "It'll be very difficult for him."_

_I sighed, "I feel guilty about it."_

_"Why?"_

_"Because I feel like he needs support from a couple like us, but we're actually deceiving him."_

_Sherlock gave me a searching look. "And how could you fix that, John?"_

_I didn't have an answer for him._

I went over and dropped onto the couch and put my head in my hands.

"Bloody hell, Sherlock. What have I done? This situation just keeps getting more complicated and there's no end in sight. I don't see how you could forgive me for this. I can't forgive myself."

A few seconds later I felt Sherlock sit beside me.

"John, don't be so hard on yourself. You acted out of a desire to help, because you care about people. I got so angry because that's sometimes hard for me to understand and remember. And also, I'm selfish. I have to come first."

"You do. I just wasn't thinking, because I'm an idiot."

Sherlock shook his head. "It's true you weren't thinking, but you're not an idiot." He paused. "You're the least stupid person I know." He suddenly gulped and looked at me with horror, "I'm sorry," he said, "I didn't mean to say that!"

I smiled, "Why are you sorry? That was one of the nicest things you've said to me, actually."

Sherlock quickly stood up and went across the room. "The last time I said that to a person, I followed it up by kissing them."

"Er, well, you weren't planning on kissing me, were you?" I wasn't sure if I was amused or alarmed.

"Of course not!" He snapped irritably. "It's just...I thought I had deleted her."

"Who?" I was curious now. I had often wondered if Sherlock had any romantic history.

"I...I don't remember her name...I seem to have successfully deleted that. I don't want to talk about it."

"Oh come on, Sherlock! You can't do this to me! You've told me too much already to stop now."

"Oh all right. If I tell you the story will you promise to never bring it up again?"

"Sure," I said eagerly. I was intrigued by the idea of getting insight into Sherlock's life.

He sighed and said, "She was the sister of one of my classmates. I used to visit him on holidays so I could see her."

"Classmates? How old were you?"

"Sixteen. And if you want to hear the story, stop interrupting!"

"Sorry, go on."

"She was quick, and clever, and quiet, not like other girls. When she talked she had something to say. Something that usually surprised me. She...she seemed to understand me."

He paused. In spite of his instruction to stop interrupting, I wanted to prod Sherlock into continuing so I asked, "What did she look like?"

Sherlock seemed surprised by the question, then wrinkled his forehead as he tried to remember, evidently he remembered her more as a mind, rather than a body. "She had long, straight, light-brown hair, green eyes, and a small upturned nose. She was rather short, but thin." He paused, and then his forehead unwrinkled and he smiled, "I remember I liked her knees."

"You liked her _knees_?"

"Yes, they made interesting shapes as she walked. I liked the way her calf muscles curved into the backs of her knees and then the way the thigh muscles extended up from them."

I laughed, "Sherlock, you're a leg man!"

He glared at me, "I don't know what that means, but I'm sure I'm nothing of the kind! I'm going to stop this right now if you persist in talking nonsense."

"Sorry, sorry," I said, suppressing my wild urge to giggle, "please continue."

He shrugged, "I'm not quite sure what to say. One day we were out in their garden, and she said something, I don't remember now what it was. I don't know what made me do it, but I said 'you're the least stupid person I know' and then I asked her if I could put my tongue in her mouth."

"You _what_? Why on earth did you ask that?"

"Because it was what I wanted to do."

"But, Sherlock, why didn't you just ask to kiss her?"

"I wanted to be honest about my intentions. It seemed like the chivalrous thing to do. "

I had a sudden, horrific vision of Sherlock asking a person on a date, making his entire, chivalrous intentions clear. Maybe his choice of a celibate lifestyle was best for all concerned.

"So what happened?" I asked weakly, not sure if I really wanted to know, but unable to stop at this point.

"She agreed, so...we kissed for approximately three and a half minutes. Neither one of us was enjoying it after that time, so we agreed that we would stop our relationship. I never spoke to her or saw her again."

"Sherlock! That's...so sad!" I exclaimed.

"Why? It's what we both wanted. It was perfectly amicable."

"But you _liked _each other. Why did you feel you had to never see her again?"

Sherlock scowled, "We didn't like kissing. We felt embarrassed and awkward afterward. It ruined whatever it was that we felt before. We couldn't look at each other anymore. And it was my fault."

"But Sherlock, that's kind of normal. First kisses are often awkward and embarrassing. It's a new level of intimacy...especially if it was the very first time for both of you..."

"No," Sherlock interrupted frostily. "She and I were not awkward with each other _that _way. That's just silly prudishness. No, we actually were...repulsed by the act and each other. It felt...invasive and slimy and she tasted...odd...and I couldn't get that taste and feel out of my mouth for days afterward."

There was a long pause. I finally said, "So...did you ever...like anyone since?"

"Felt sexual attraction you mean?"

I nodded.

He paused, and seemed a little unwilling to answer. "I just don't understand it," he said finally. "What makes people want to share and explore the dirtiest, most private parts of their bodies with each other? It seems humiliating, rather than pleasurable."

I searched for words, wondering how on earth I had found my way into this subject, with Sherlock of all people!

"Well Sherlock," I finally started, hesitantly, "actually, that's part of the pleasure. It builds intimacy between people who love each other. That opening up, making yourself vulnerable, trusting that your partner will accept and love all of you, your smell, your flavor, your bodily fluids...it's a very powerful thing, or at least it can be...should be."

Sherlock looked at me searchingly. "You seem to know a lot about this subject."

I shrugged. "I'm a doctor, Sherlock. I have to understand intimacy issues because I need to be able to build a limited, professional level of intimate trust with my patients, or else I can't do my job properly. My patients need to know that they are safe with me, and that I won't hurt or humiliate them. Every doctor learns those skills fairly quickly, or else they become a bad doctor, or wash out entirely."

"Doctors must be good lovers."

I flushed, "Well, I guess I like to think so."

That ended the conversation, but Sherlock seemed a bit withdrawn and thoughtful the rest of the evening.

As for myself, I couldn't help wondering what had happened to the quiet, clever girl with interesting knees. Had she gone on to a life of self-imposed celibacy like Sherlock? Doubtful. She was probably married with children, and had forgotten all about her awkward first kiss in the garden with Sherlock. But I did find myself curiously interested in her. I would have liked to see a photograph of this girl who had come closest to Sherlock, in both a mental and physical way when he was young.

The next few weeks passed by with a certain rhythmic schedule. Zak often came by in the afternoons to visit Alisha. When he arrived before her, he would come up for tea with me and/or Sherlock. Sherlock privately called them "tea and sympathy" sessions, and we agreed that Zak seemed to need them.

Seeing Sherlock interact with Zak was like seeing a whole new side to Sherlock's personality. With Zak Sherlock was not just polite, but friendly. Sherlock also displayed a remarkable degree of patience with him. He discussed music with Zak at length (continuing the ruse that Sherlock was a musician, not a Consulting Detective) and would play various pieces for him to illustrate different styles and techniques of composition. I wondered to myself if Sherlock was remembering how isolated his own teenaged years were.

Most evenings Alisha would come up and share a glass of wine with me. Sometimes Sherlock would have one as well, depending on his mood and whether he was currently working on a case or not. I noticed that every night after she left, Sherlock would listen for her flat door to close and lock. One night, Sherlock saw me watching him do this.

"Why are you smiling?" He asked.

"You feel protective of her," I said.

He flushed slightly. "I'm merely keeping an eye out, as instructed."

"Bollocks! You never follow Mycroft's orders. You're worried for her, and for Zak."

"Fine! I'm worried. I feel badly that those two young people are virtually held hostage by their family's intolerance. I'm concerned that the family will discover Alisha's uncovering and drinking alcohol with us or that Zak might be gay. I don't see a good outcome to either discovery."

"Are you worried that something might actually happen?"

Sherlock shrugged. "It seems a little hard to believe that both Alisha and Zak will be able to live their entire lives without being discovered violating their family's code of conduct."

I went to bed that night with a vague sense of foreboding.

The next day was a Friday. I didn't work that day, as I was supposed to cover a weekend shift later. I slept in later than usual as an indulgence. When I got up I found that Sherlock had left. I found a text message from him that said he was going to meet a potential client. I was wondering idly to myself what it could be and if it might be a case of interest when I heard unfamiliar footsteps from downstairs, and then the front door slammed.

I looked out the front window and saw Alisha and her Uncle Ahmad leaving the building. As they turned to walk down the street, Alisha looked behind her and up at our windows. Her expression was one of anger and fear. It was just a second, as her uncle grabbed her arm and almost seemed to drag her down the street. After a few paces, he let go of her, but the action still had struck me as unnecessarily rough.

The incident unnerved me. Was Ahmad there to take Alisha to Friday prayers? But why would Alisha be frightened by that? After a few second's hesitation, I grabbed my coat and set out to follow them at a discreet distance.

To be continued...

A/N: Ok, I'm a little scared by how this chapter will be received. Feedback is helpful! The next chapter might be the last. Two more at most. Thanks to all of you who have supported this story (and been so patient about the updates).


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Well, it looks like there will be one more chapter after this one. :-) Thanks for your patience and support!

The Enemy of My Enemy - Chapter 9

_I looked out the front window and saw Alisha and her uncle Ahmad leaving the building. As they turned to walk down the street, Alisha looked behind her and up at our windows. Her expression was one of anger and fear. It was just a second, as her uncle grabbed her arm and almost seemed to drag her down the street. After a few paces, he let go of her, but the action still had struck me as unnecessarily rough._

_The incident unnerved me. Was Ahmad there to take Alisha to Friday prayers? But why would Alisha be frightened by that? After a few second's hesitation, I grabbed my coat and set out to follow them at a discreet distance._

I was not at all sure about what I was doing. For all I knew, I was being ridiculously paranoid, but my soldier-sense was screaming that something was wrong. I had learned to trust my instincts in Afghanistan, but I didn't feel as if I could demand that anyone else trust them. I considered texting Sherlock about what I was doing, but decided I needed to find some proof that my suspicion was valid before involving him.

I continued to follow Alisha and Ahmad, allowing plenty of distance between us. However, they never turned around. Instead, they seemed to be deep in conversation, or rather, Ahmad talked and Alisha listened.

After about 30 minutes, the two of them stopped in front of a small church. It was a 20th century building and a bit dingy and run down. A small sign proclaimed it to be the "United Apostles of Christ." I had never heard of it.

Ahmad and Alisha walked up to the front door where they paused. They seemed to be arguing and then Ahmad thrust Alisha in the door, followed her, then shut the door behind him.

Now I was thoroughly confused. Why were they going into a church? I decided it was time to alert Sherlock. I sent him the following text with the address of the chapel:

_Followed Alisha & uncle to church?_

I was very uneasy. As I waited for any kind of response from Sherlock, I began to circle the building to see if there was any way I could look or get inside undetected. I kept out of view of all the windows as I made my way to the back of the building. There was a back door, but it was padlocked shut. However, there was a window in the wall a short distance away that looked as if the window frame was rotted and might be easily opened from the outside. After working on the window for a few moments I heard Alisha shriek from inside the church. Abandoning any attempts to be quiet, I wrenched the window open and climbed through. I found myself in a narrow, empty corridor. I started running in the direction that I believed Alisha's cries to be coming from. As I turned the corner at the end of the hallway I felt a sudden blow on the back of my head and the world went black.

(_break_)

I found out later that I was unconscious sometime between twenty and thirty minutes. At the time, all I knew is that I gradually became aware of the world around me again, but my head was aching horribly. I also felt aches all over my body.

As I regained consciousness, I realized that the source of my bodily discomfort was due to the position I was in. I was kneeling on a short set of stairs, my forehead resting on the stair above the rest of my body. I was on my knees, with my arms bound behind my back. My legs were bent and bound so that I couldn't move them without toppling over to one side or the other.

I raised my head, and saw that I was facing the front of the chapel. The first thing I saw was the large cross hanging on the wall behind the pulpit. I had been placed, kneeling, on the short stairway separating the area with the pews from the front dais. The next thing I saw made my blood run cold.

Placed on the stairway next to me, also bound in the same position, was Alisha. She was unconscious, severely beaten. She had toppled over so that she faced me. Her face was rapidly swelling, her eyes puffed shut and blackening. Blood was coming from her nose and mouth, it looked like her lips were split, and possibly some teeth were broken. Her hijab had been torn askew, and what alarmed me most was a trickle of blood I saw coming from her right ear.

"Alisha," I said, quietly but urgently.

She didn't respond.

"Alisha," I called again, a little louder.

"Ah, the sodomite is awake," said a man's voice from behind me. I heard footsteps as the man came up to me, passed me on the stairs and then stood in front of me. I raised my head to look at him, it was extremely uncomfortable.

I didn't recognize him at first, but after a few seconds of absorbing the hatred in his expression my aching brain placed him.

"Uzair?"

The man smiled, but it only conveyed evil and cruelty.

"Yes, that is the name I use with my Muslim...friends. But you can call me Reverend Peter."

I didn't understand, but I didn't care to, I was only worried about Alisha.

"Please, untie me," I begged. "I need to help Alisha."

The Reverend scoffed, "She is in the hands of God, being punished for her sins."

"No, I can help her. She's not dead."

"You both soon will be. This is your final chance to repent of your sins."

I thought quickly. I had texted Sherlock my location. Would he come? Especially if he responded and I did not respond to his response? How long would that take? How long had I been unconscious? It seemed the best course of action to keep the Reverend talking for as long as possible. I wanted to defy him, but that didn't seem to be the wisest decision in the circumstances.

"How would I do that?" I asked.

"Repent your sins, confess your faith, and be baptized in the name of Jesus."

_Maybe all that will involve untying me._ I thought.

"Ok," I said, "I want to do that."

Reverend Peter seemed to be considering the matter. After looking at me intently he nodded. "I will try to save your soul," he said. "But if you are mocking the Holy Spirit by pretending devotion, you will surely burn in hell."

"What about Alisha?" I asked. "Can she be saved as well?"

The Reverend gave a cruel laugh. "No," he said. "Her uncle has decided her fate, as is his right as her earthly authority. She has rebelled against her family and her God, and her uncle has handed her over for the ultimate judgment."

"Please Reverend Peter, doesn't she deserve the chance to repent as well?"

He seemed to almost leer at me. "I had no idea you could have such strong feelings for a woman. Maybe you really are ready to repent of your filthy ways."

"I'm a doctor, and her friend. I want to help her. Please, have mercy."

"So you don't have any carnal desire for her?"

This seemed like a dangerous question to answer either way. I was trying to decide how best to answer and keep stalling for time when a door slammed behind me, from the back of the church, and a familiar voice rang out.

"Reverend Thompson!" Sherlock called. "Stop whatever you're doing and let John and Alisha go."

The Reverend looked at Sherlock, who was apparently coming from the back of the church, behind me. He gave another of his loathsome smiles and said, "Ah, coming to rescue your fairy?" He gestured toward me.

I heard Sherlock chuckle darkly before he replied, "While I won't deny that John possesses his own special brand of magic, I assure you that he is no fairy but quite definitely a man."

It sounded like Sherlock was approaching slowly and cautiously for some reason. I wished my field of vision afforded me more of a view so I could see all that was going on.

"Man?" Reverend Peter almost screamed. "You are not _men_. Sodomites, perverts, blasphemers, filthy purveyors of lechery and disease..."

"ENOUGH!" thundered Sherlock in a tone of command that echoed impressively through the sanctuary. It startled the Reverend into silence. And then I saw the reason for Sherlock's caution. In the Reverend's hand was a detonator.

"You may say whatever you like about me, " continued Sherlock in a velvety voice edged in steel, "but I will hear no more of this slander against John, the finest man I have ever known. He is everything a man ought to be: brave, loyal, strong, selfless, caring, wise, honest, and forgiving."

Sherlock then lowered his voice, the velvet was gone, it was all steel, "But, regardless if he is a good man or a bad one, he is _mine_, and I _will_ kill you if you harm him."

There was a pregnant silence, then Sherlock continued in a conversational tone, "I've never quite understood how an all-knowing, all-wise, all-loving God such as people like you claim to believe in could possibly be offended by how any two people express their love for each other."

Sherlock's voice had come slowly closer behind me. Reverend Peter held up the detonator in his hand.

"One step closer, blasphemer, and I will blow us all into eternity. There are explosives all over this church."

"I don't think you really want to do that," replied Sherlock. "Martyrdom may be saintly, but then you deprive yourself of leading your flock into this religious war you're planning."

For the first time the Reverend looked shaken. "How did you know about that?" he demanded.

"You've been betrayed," replied Sherlock.

"No matter," said Reverend Peter, recovering quickly. "The plan is already in motion, soon all of Britain, then Europe, will have to choose a side and abandon their decadence."

I was just wondering, somewhat angrily, how long Sherlock had known of this plot about a religious war when a forceful blast hit me and I was knocked unconscious for the second time that day.

To be continued...

A/N: I am now going to grovel for feedback! _Please_ let me know what you thought of this chapter! Pretty please?


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Huge apology to all for the long delay in getting this story finished. My stupid "real" life keeps interrupting my writing...

The Enemy of My Enemy - Chapter 10

_"One step closer, blasphemer, and I will blow us all into eternity. There are explosives all over this church."_

_"I don't think you really want to do that," replied Sherlock. "Martyrdom may be saintly, but then you deprive yourself of leading your flock into this religious war you're planning."_

_For the first time the Reverend looked shaken. "How did you know about that?" he demanded._

_"You've been betrayed," replied Sherlock._

_"No matter," said Reverend Peter, recovering quickly. "The plan is already in motion, soon all of Britain, then Europe, will have to choose a side and abandon their decadence."_

_I was just wondering, somewhat angrily, how long Sherlock had known of this plot about a religious war when a forceful blast hit me and I was knocked unconscious for the second time that day._

_**break**_

The first thing I became aware of was voices. I couldn't make out what they were saying, but it seemed as though the speakers were nearby. It was almost as if I were underwater, and they were conversing above the surface.

One of the voices sounded angry, the other replied in milder tones. As the voices continued, their sense of familiarity to me became stronger.

Suddenly, I knew that the angry voice was Sherlock saying, "...again, so help me Mycroft I will never forgive you."

Mycroft's calm voice replied, "Sherlock, John is awake."

I blinked my eyes, the light caused a stabbing pain in my head. Two blurry figures were standing on either side of what appeared to be my hospital bed. I instinctively reached my hands out and felt the two figures clasp my outstretched hands. Even though my vision wasn't clear I could tell that the cool, long-fingered hand on my left belonged to Sherlock, and the slightly plumper and warmer hand on my right was Mycroft's.

"John," Sherlock said, sounding breathless and worried.

"What happened?" I asked, my voice a bit raspy.

"What do you remember?" Mycroft asked.

"Sherlock and the Reverend were arguing, then it felt like there was an explosion."

I took my hands back from the brothers and rubbed my aching head.

"That was a concussion grenade, courtesy of the United Kingdom of Mycroft," said Sherlock , his face finally coming into focus. "It knocked everyone in the church out. You suffered more ill-effects than I did because you had already received one nasty blow to the head today."

Sherlock looked a bit dirty and disheveled, but otherwise appeared to be fine. Mycroft was his usual impeccable self.

"Alisha?" I asked.

The two Holmes brothers exchanged a glance. Sherlock looked angry.

Mycroft turned to me, "I am very sorry to tell you that Alisha did not survive the injuries inflicted by her uncle."

"Oh God," I gasped as my eyes filled with tears.

Sherlock looked furiously back at Mycroft.

"I don't understand," I continued. "Why did this happen? Why did her uncle beat her to death? And why in a church?"

Sherlock continued to glare daggers at Mycroft while Mycroft looked a bit uneasy.

After a pause Mycroft said, "Alisha was working for me. Her uncle Ahmad was involved in a plot with the Reverend Peter Thompson to launch a religious war between Christianity and Islam in England. Once we received rumor of the plot, Alisha was recruited to pass intelligence on the conspirators to me."

"Alisha was a spy for you?"

Mycroft nodded, "Essentially, yes."

"And what was the plot? I don't understand." I asked. I was still having trouble processing information through my aching head. It didn't help that my heart was also aching over the loss of Alisha. Was it possible that she was really gone?

Mycroft continued his explanation, "Peter, AKA Uzair, and Ahmad hatched an idea to start fighting between Christians and Muslims in Britain. They believed that with enough provocation, they could start a full-scale war that would force everyone to choose a side, thus ending secularism in Britain. They were of course also hoping that the fighting would spread to Europe and America. The first move was to be the bombing of Peter's church. We had been watching them for some time, the explosives they bought to blow up the church were purchased from our operatives, and were completely inert. The conspirators have now been arrested."

"Yes, a smashing success," Sherlock chimed in sarcastically. "That is, aside from the casualties of Alisha and John."

"I am so very sorry, John," Mycroft said, his voice heavy with regret. "The beating of Alisha was entirely unforeseen. We had no reason for particular suspicion when she left with her uncle. We also did not realize that you left to follow them."

"Unacceptable, Mycroft," Sherlock snapped. "Please leave John and I out of your cloak and dagger schemes." He paused for a moment, it looked as if he was shaking with anger. "As a matter of fact," he continued, "get out of my house."

"221c is the property of the British government, not yours," replied Mycroft coolly.

Sherlock flushed with anger and seemed too choked with rage to speak.

"Sherlock, be reasonable," Mycroft continued soothingly. "What did you expect? Your address and phone number are on your website. Every criminal in the London area knows exactly where to find you. For you to live without some measure of security is simply impossible." Mycroft stopped and gave me a small smile. "Congratulations John, you now live in one of the ten most secure buildings in London."

I closed my eyes. I couldn't bear to hear the brothers sniping at each other, not when the pain of Alisha's death was so fresh.

"Mycroft," began Sherlock, still enraged.

"Sherlock," I interrupted. "Please stop. I can't...I can't..." my throat closed up as I tried not to lose control of my emotions.

There was an uncomfortable silence.

"John," Mycroft said gently, "in accordance with Islamic practice, Alisha will need to be buried soon. Her body is currently being held here at the hospital. I wanted to give you a chance to say goodbye, that is, if you want to do so."

"Yes, most definitely," I replied and started to sit up.

"Wait!" Sherlock exclaimed. "We have to alert the nurse that you have regained consciousness. Once a doctor has checked you out and cleared you to get up we will take you to Alisha." Sherlock again glared at Mycroft.

The nurse was called in, followed by the doctor soon after. I was advised that I had a severe concussion and would need to stay in the hospital for at least twenty-four hours for observation. However, I was allowed to get up and walk short distances as soon as I felt able, and as long as I did not feel dizzy.

After the doctor left I nodded to Mycroft. "Take me to Alisha."

Sherlock got me a hospital robe and I got carefully out of the bed. My legs felt a little shaky at first, but after taking a few careful steps I felt confident that I could walk reasonably well.

It turned out to be a short walk to a room just down the hall from mine. I was surprised as I thought we would be going to the morgue. Mycroft nodded to a man standing outside the room, opened the door, and motioned me to follow him.

As I entered, I suddenly was confused. I heard the sound of a heart monitor beeping. I approached the figure on the bed. It was Alisha, she was unconscious, but alive.

I turned to Mycroft. "You bastard!" I whispered fiercely, "Why did you tell me she was dead?"

Mycroft replied quietly, "A regrettable necessity, John. We can't be too careful, for Alisha's sake. The knowledge of her survival cannot be discussed outside of this room. Once her condition is stable, she will be moved to a secure facility for her recovery."

"And then what?"

"She will be given a new identity and resume her life far away from here."

I went and looked at her chart. There was a long list of injuries, but with time and care, I was relieved to find that Alisha had a good chance of making a complete recovery.

I then went to her side and took her hand. Tears welled up in my eyes. If only I could have done something to protect her...

"Goodbye Alisha," I whispered. "Be safe and happy from now on...I'll miss you."

I stroked her hand a few times, then placed it back by her side and wiped my eyes.

The three of us somberly made our way back to my room and I lay back down feeling drained.

After a period of silence Mycroft said he needed to return to the office. He shook my hand and wished me a quick recovery.

As he turned to leave, a sudden thought occurred to me.

"Mycroft!"

"Yes John?"

"Alisha had a cousin, a young man by the name of Zakariyya. Was he arrested along with the other conspirators?"

"Yes, the entire family is currently in custody, until it can be determined who is guilty of what. However, due to his age he is being held at a juvenile facility."

"Well," I said, "I don't know what he may or may not be guilty of, but Sherlock and I have some concerns for his safety."

I shot a brief look at Sherlock, who nodded slightly.

Mycroft looked slightly surprised.

I continued, "Sherlock and I think he might be gay."

Mycroft smiled, "Thanks, I'll see to it that he is kept out of harm's way. Goodbye John. Sherlock, I'll need to see you at my office as soon as possible."

After Mycroft left Sherlock and I looked at each other for a long moment.

Finally, I spoke, "So how long had you known about this plot by Ahmad and Uzair?"

" I learned of it on my way over to the church. When I got your text I immediately contacted Mycroft who filled me in."

The anger that had been building in me melted away. So he hadn't been holding out on me after all.

Sherlock smiled, "I told you, John. I'm not going to jeopardize your safety by withholding information anymore." He paused, then continued, "You never stop surprising me, John. You just expressed concern for the safety of a young man who might have been involved with a plot that could have resulted in your death."

I sighed, "We don't know what his involvement may have been, he might be completely innocent. Even if he isn't, he doesn't deserve to be beaten like Alisha for being who he is."

Sherlock smiled and shook his head. "You try to be ordinary, John, but you're anything but." He paused for a moment, then sighed. "Well, I should probably go and finish the reports for Mycroft. Once you're released he's going to want a statement from you as well. Will you be alright on your own for awhile?"

"Yeah, go ahead."

"Once Mycroft is satisfied I'll be back."

"Fine, I'll be here," I smiled.

As Sherlock walked out the door I settled back into my pillow with a sigh. I wanted to go home. There was something that I was anxious to do...

A few days later, Sherlock and I were back home and life had returned to normal, although the absence of Alisha and Zak contributed a note of sadness that neither one of us mentioned.

I walked in to the kitchen, and found Sherlock at work on an experiment with hair. Specifically, he was testing out the effects of various chemicals on human body hair, with what looked like the partial arm of a middle-aged man.

I went by his side and placed a piece of paper beside Sherlock on the table, while averting my eyes from the results of his experiment.

"What's this?" asked Sherlock with a touch of irritation.

I stood back and waited without saying anything.

Sherlock glanced over at the paper, then froze for a second. Then, without taking his eyes from my document, he carefully put down the arm and removed the protective gloves he'd been wearing and picked up the paper.

"John? What?..." he seemed unable to continue.

I couldn't help grinning hugely, "I've stunned Sherlock-bloody- Holmes speechless! This is one for the diary!"

"What made you do this?" he demanded.

"I realized that you were right, and that I was a fool," I said.

He looked over at me, his smile now mirroring my own. "Twenty-five years?"

I shrugged, "I asked Mrs. Hudson for thirty, but she said she doesn't plan on living that long. If there's anything you don't like about the terms, we can go talk to her about it."

In response, Sherlock bounded from the kitchen to his desk, seized a pen, and signed his name by my signature with a dramatic flourish.

He whirled back around and seized me in a quick, rib-cracking hug and then was out the sitting room door and down the stairs bellowing for Mrs. Hudson to add her signature to the lease.

A/N: There will be a short epilogue to this that I will hopefully get posted soon. Thanks to all of you for your patience and support! Please let me know how you liked this story, and if you are interested in continuing to follow this version of Sherlock & John. I'm currently working on some ideas for a story set in summer...


	11. Epilogue

A/N: Warning - a little slashy, but ties into the events of the story. Nothing graphic...

**Epilogue - Three Years Later**

Sherlock and I arrived at Mycroft's office, responding to his mysterious summons about following up on a case. It was a bit puzzling, as Sherlock hadn't worked on anything for Mycroft for quite some time, and I was even more curious as to why my attendance had been specifically requested as well.

Mycroft ushered us in and offered us refreshments.

Sherlock, with his usual impatience concerning his brother, merely snapped, "I'm busy Mycroft, what do you want?"

Mycroft merely smiled and withdrew a photograph from a file on his desk and handed it to me. It was a picture from a wedding reception. The bride and groom were toasting each other with champagne flutes in their hands. It took me a second, and then my breath caught in my throat. The bride was Alisha.

She was just as lovely as I remembered her, and she looked radiantly happy as did the groom. He was tall, blond, and looked like he was athletic as well. They were standing, their profiles to the camera, behind a table with a wedding cake. Also on the table, side by side a Bible and a Quran were on display. My eyes filled with tears when I saw the Quran was on a stand I knew quite well. How she had managed to keep it through her transition to a new identity I didn't know. I would have assumed that she would have had to leave all items of her former life behind.

Unable to speak, I handed the photograph to Sherlock and looked at Mycroft who was smiling fondly at me.

"It's a security breach, but I felt you had the right to know," he said.

I swallowed then carefully said, "Thank you."

Sherlock wordlessly handed the photograph back to his brother. Something in Sherlock's steely gaze indicated that Mycroft was still not forgiven for the entire episode.

We took our leave and caught a cab to return home. Once inside the car I heaved a shuddering breath. I was overjoyed to learn that Alisha was safe, well, happy, loved, and apparently remembered me with fondness. However, all the guilt and anxiety for her that I had not realized I had been carrying with me since that time now seemed to want release through tears. I leaned forward on the seat, my head between my hands with my elbows propped on my knees. I started trembling with the effort of containing my emotions.

Suddenly Sherlock's arms were around me and he held me close to him. That undid the last shreds of my control and I wept openly against his body for several minutes. He said nothing, just held me close and gently rested his head against mine. Dozens of memories flitted through my mind: Alisha knocking shyly at our door in her t-shirt and jogging bottoms, Alisha and I giggling at crap telly, Alisha sipping her wine, Sherlock demonstrating Baroque violin techniques to Zak, Sherlock listening for the sound of Alisha's lock turning, Sherlock pretending to be my boyfriend...

As my tears slowed Sherlock fished his handkerchief from his trouser pocket and handed it me.

"Thanks," I said, my voice somewhat muffled in the lapel of his coat. "By the way," I continued, "I don't think I told you at the time, but...you were the best boyfriend, ever."

I both felt and heard Sherlock's chuckle in his chest, and it made me smile.


End file.
